by Beck, J. L.
“Ha, no can do, sweetie. I’m going to right my wrongs. I just wanted to let you know that I love you before everything ends. I know you blame yourself, think that it’s your fault, but it isn’t. You were always the best thing that ever came from your mother.”
I blink, confused by his statement. Right his wrongs? What is he talking about?
“Dad, what’s going on? Tell me. Please, just tell me,” I plead, the muscles in my stomach tightening painfully, so painfully that I lean against the nearest wall.
“I love you, Ava,” he whispers, and then the line goes dead.
I blink, pulling the phone away from my ear to look down at the screen. I stare at it, mouth gaping open for several seconds before I realize he just hung up on me.
“Oh God…” I whisper into the air and redial his number, but it goes to voicemail. “Shit, shit, shit!!”
I pull the phone away from my ear and look at the screen, waiting for something to happen that could make all of this go away. How did my life become such a mess? My father, Mom, Vance. It feels like I’m on a downward spiral. Damnit! I thought my dad was getting better at that facility, not worse, but he definitely sounded worse.
He sounded like he was saying goodbye, almost as if he was going to… No! I shake my head as if it will make the thought disappear. He wouldn’t hurt himself, would he? Or worse, someone else?
“What’s wrong?” Vance’s voice makes me look up from the screen, my eyes clash with his concerned ones. I almost forgot he was here.
“I…I don’t know. I need to find my dad. Figure out where he is, if he’s okay,” I say, my feet already moving in the direction of the car.
“Wait, where are you going? Where is your dad? What happened?” Vance asks, his voice tight as he follows me closely while I speed walk down the street.
I can feel my lips trembling, I’m breathing but there isn’t any air filling my lungs.
“Ava, where are you going?” He repeats his question, sounding even more nervous.
His panic is making me panic, and… Where am I going?
“I don’t know!” I yell, throwing my hands up in the air.
“Okay, calm down. You look like you’re about to hyperventilate. Slow down for a sec and tell me what’s going on. Talk to me.”
We reach the car then, but instead of getting into the driver’s seat like I had planned, I stop. As badly as I don’t want to listen to Vance, he’s right. I’m about to hyperventilate, the tightening in my chest getting worse. Leaning against the side of the car, I suck air into my lungs. In through my nose, and out my mouth, the air swishes until the tightening in my chest becomes bearable again.
“I don’t know where my dad is, but he sounded like he was going to do something…like hurt himself, or someone else. He was drunk and he was telling me that he loved me and that he was going to right his wrongs…whatever that means. I don’t know. He sounded bad. I have a bad feeling. This is terrible, horrible, and I don’t know how this happened. How did this happen?” The panic is rising inside me, cresting against my sanity.
Vance places his strong hands on my shoulders, and I don’t have the strength or willpower to shrug him off. Right now, his touch is a welcoming one, a healing balm on the pain.
“Shhh, beautiful. It’s going to be okay. We’ll figure this out,” Vance assures, his green eyes soft, his lips smooth, full. I focus on those lips, imagining how they felt against mine, how I want to kiss him again now.
Vance clears his throat, a gentle smile on his lips. “Why don’t we go home and see if we can get some more information. Maybe we can call the rehab facility he was at? Ask your mom if there’s anything we can do?”
My chest stops heaving, and I feel less like I’m going to pass out now.
“Good idea,” I quip.
Truthfully, I know I need to keep a leveled head about this, driving around like a crazed person looking for him isn’t going to fix this, even though it feels like losing my shit would be the easiest solution right now.
“Why don’t you get in the passenger seat and I’ll drive us home?” Vance suggests while already guiding me to the other side of the car.
I should push him away, tell him I can take care of myself, but when I reach up to swipe some loose strands of hair away from my face, I notice how much my hand is shaking. Even as stubborn as I am, I know it’s best to just let Vance do the driving.
“What about your car? Didn’t you drive here?”
“I can get it later, don’t worry about that,” he says, his voice oddly reassuring and calm, too calm. He opens the door for me and helps me inside before reaching over to buckle me in. Part of me wants to push him away and tell him to stop but the other part, the part that is winning right now, is taking comfort in him taking care of me.
The drive home goes by in a blur, and I continue to dial my dad’s number in hopes that he turned his phone back on, but all I get is his voicemail. By the time Vance parks the car in the driveway, I must have called him at least thirty times.
He kills the engine and I get out of the car, thankfully without his help. I’m weak enough as it is right now, anymore of his touch and I’ll be a melted piece of butter on the pavement.
“I’m going to call the rehab facility my dad was staying at and see when he checked out and why,” I mutter out loud, more to myself than Vance who is walking up to the house beside me. I don’t want his help, not really. He’s done enough horrible shit to me, the last thing I need to do is make myself look even more fragile.
As soon as I open the front door, I can hear my mother’s chatter coming from the kitchen. I follow her voice like it’s a beacon of light, my feet dragging across the floor.
“Mom, something happened,” I blurt out when she looks up at me. My heart hammers inside my chest.
“Susan, I’m going to have to call you back,” she tells her friend and hangs up, worry creasing her forehead. “What’s wrong?”
I’m vaguely aware of Vance’s presence beside me. It makes me feel stronger, and less like the delicate piece of glass seconds away from shattering that I am.
“Dad... he… he called me, he checked out of rehab, and he didn’t sound good. He was drunk and saying weird stuff. I’m really worried about him. He hasn’t reached out to me since I left and...” My mother’s expression changes from concern to annoyance and my voice trails off at the sudden change.
“Ava, I know you worry about your father, and that’s fine and all, but he’s an adult. A grown man. It’s not your job to worry and take care of him. We helped him get into that facility for you, and only you. I know it’s hard, but he had his chance. There is nothing else we can do for him. There’s no helping someone that doesn’t want to help themselves.”
Panic grips onto my heart, she doesn’t care. She doesn’t care. Why am I not surprised?
“There must be something…he needs me,” I whine.
“He needs therapy, but therapy only works if he wants it to work and by leaving the facility we sent him to, he’s proven he doesn’t want care, nor does he want to get better. He needs to help himself, Ava.”
She’s right, I know that, but she doesn’t have to be so cruel. Had her and Henry made a different choice, had they not been so selfish, maybe this never would’ve happened.
“I don’t care. I’m still going to call the rehab facility and ask them what happened,” I tell her.
She shakes her head but doesn’t say anything else. Not that I would expect her to. She’s said all that she has to say. Turning, I exit the kitchen and head for the staircase with Vance hot on my heels.
“I can help you—” he interjects.
“No,” I interrupt him. “I don’t need your help.”
“Ava—”
“I said, I don’t need your help,” I repeat as I run up the stairs.
He sighs but doesn’t make a move to follow me. Thankfully. Which is good because I need to concentrate on finding my father and I can’t concentrate on anything with V
ance sitting next to me. It’s like a haze forms over my mind and my emotions go haywire with him near and I don’t need that right now. I need peace, silence, and a clear mind. I need to help my father, because even though my mother let him down, I won’t.
* * *
Time ticks by slowly. Twenty-four-hours has passed since my father and I’s last conversation. I’ve been on edge ever since then. The lack of sleep I got because of worry hasn’t really helped matters either. I’m grouchy, irritable, and still have no idea what’s going on with him. I can’t focus on anything, which only angers me further.
Between classes, I’ve managed to call the rehab place twice but all they could tell me was that he checked himself out yesterday morning without any reason. They advised him not to, but he told them he was capable of making his own choices.
When I wasn’t happy with the answer they gave me, I asked to talk to one of the therapists there and he told me that my father was doing great up until a couple days ago, and that he was surprised that he had left so suddenly.
It didn’t make sense to me. The puzzle pieces weren’t fitting in their spots.
“Class dismissed.” Professor Hall’s authoritative voice pulls me from my obsessive thoughts. “Please leave your papers on my desk on the way out, and remember, you lose ten percent of your grade for every day that it’s late.”
Well isn’t this craptastic.
He wants the paper that I don’t have because some asshole decided to delete it, aka Vance. I could almost cry. The amount of pressure on my chest making it hard to breathe. There’s probably an ulcer the size of Alaska in my stomach from all the anxiety I’ve been having, and now I have to add this onto the heaping pile of cow shit.
Gathering up my books, I stuff everything into my backpack. Dragging my feet, I make my way up to his desk, dreading that I’ll have to explain myself to him. Never in my entire life have I been late handing in work. My grades have always been the most important thing to me, the only thing that mattered.
“Mr. Hall, about my paper…” I start, eyes cast down, shame written all over my face.
“No worries, Ava, I already know. Mr. Preston came in early this morning and explained to me about your laptop. I’ll give you a ten-day extension, and not a day more, get it to me as soon as you can.”
“What?” I blurt out, lifting my gaze to Mr. Hall’s.
He lifts a questioning brow. “Are you okay, Ava? I told you that I was giving you a ten-day extension and you say what?”
Oh shit. “No, no, that’s not what I mean. I’m sorry.” I shake my head flustered, embarrassed, and ashamed.
If it weren’t for Vance, I wouldn’t be in this stupid situation. Gripping onto the edge of my backpack, I take a step back and mutter a thank you, before escaping the confines of the room. Chewing on my bottom lip, I walk straight to my car and drive home. I try and call my father a couple more times, hoping, praying that his phone will be back on, but I get the same monotone computerized voicemail.
Beating a hand against the steering wheel, I roar in frustration. He’s all I have left. The last person on this planet that cares about me and there’s nothing I can do to save him. I wonder what he’s doing right now, where he is? If he has somewhere to stay? I know he’s an adult, but I can’t help but worry for him.
Moisture fills my eyes and when I pull into the driveway of the mansion, I park my car and wipe at my eyes, willing the pesky tears away. With my backpack in hand, I walk into the house, joyful laughter fills the space, and I tighten my hold on the strap against my shoulder. Their laughter grates on my last nerve and I snap like a rubber band pulled too tight.
“What’s so funny?” I ask, voice clipped.
They’re both standing in the kitchen, my mother near the stove, cooking. While Henry stands off to the side, a glass filled with brown liquid in his hand.
“Oh nothing, sweetie.” She looks up at me, smiling.
She’s smiling, and I’m dying inside. Why does it always feel like she and Henry are getting exactly what they want while everyone around them suffers?
“How can you be happy?” Bitter anger boils inside me, filling my veins with an angry venom.
“What’s not to be happy about?” Henry pipes up, and I swing my frigid gaze to his, acid burning up my throat.
What’s not to be happy about?
“While I could name off a long list of things I’m not happy with, starting with my father missing, which neither of you seems to care about,” I spit, bearing my teeth.
Henry squints his eyes at me, and instead of responding, takes a drink from his glass, a glass that he looks like he wants to toss at my head.
My mother of course gasps, her eyes widening with horror as if I’ve slapped her.
“I’m getting very tired of your attitude. I’ve tried to be understanding but…” she starts to lash out, but I don’t give her the chance to finish whatever ridiculous shit she was going to make up. I wonder if she even believes the shit she says.
“Both of you did this.” I point my finger at my mother, and then Henry. “It was your selfish choices that drove a wedge between your marriages. If you hadn’t fucked each other, maybe our families would be whole. Maybe my father wouldn’t be missing, and maybe I wouldn’t be in this deranged jail cell.”
I’m past angry, and more in the murderous rage bracket.
“Ava Marie!” my mother scolds as if I’m a child, her face paling at my spoken truth. So far, I’ve never called her out on her bullshit, but I’m done, so far past done I don’t care what happens to me anymore. Put me on the street, take it all away. At least when it’s over, I’ll still have myself. I turn on my heels, my sandals squeaking across the floor as I stomp out into the foyer.
“You will not talk to your mother like that, not in my house,” Henry bellows behind me, and I can’t help myself, I turn around, lift my hand, and flip him off. If he thinks he’s going to try and father me, he has another thing coming. I’ll jump off the side of a cliff before I let that happen.
“Go fuck yourself, Henry,” I sneer, wanting to wipe the floor with his face, but instead stomp up the stairs and into my room slamming the door so hard that it rattles. Shucking off my backpack, I toss it into the corner on a chair and kick off my sandals. Then I sink into the mattress and wish for it to swallow me whole.
Tears start to fall without permission and a sob pushes past my lips, the noise breaking the silence around me. Alone. Always alone. I have no one, nothing, my mother doesn’t care about me, my father is missing, and Vance… Squeezing my eyes shut, I try and forget about him. About his scent, the way his body feels against mine, and his words.
I love you.
I would never tell him, never, but I love him too.
47
Vance
My fingers throb, and my eyes burn, but I finally finished the English paper for her. Most think I’m dumb and that I don’t know my ass from my head, but I do. I just don’t apply myself. Thumbing through the freshly printed pieces of paper, I count them ensuring they’re all there before stapling them together. I would never put so much work into one of my own papers, for her, on the other hand, I stayed up until almost midnight so I could finish this. Professor Hall might have given her ten days, but I want this off her mind.
Opening my door, I sneak across the hall to hers. All I plan on doing is going into her room quietly to lay this on her desk so she has it in the morning, but when I grab the brass doorknob and turn it slowly, pushing it open gently, a soft sob meets my ears. The noise is earth-shattering, raw, and a cry for help. I open the door enough to slip into the room. It’s dark, but I can see enough to make out the bed.
I put the paper down on the desk and step closer. Ava’s sobbing quiets down, but I know she’s still crying by the low sniffing noises she’s emitting. I should ask her if she is okay? If there is anything I can do. But I’m not stupid. I know she’ll just send me away.
She doesn’t want to admit that she needs anyo
ne, and especially not me. Staring down at her unmoving form, I wonder if she would push me away if I slid into the bed next to her? Maybe she would just let me comfort her while pretending I’m not here. I’ve never comforted anyone in my life, mainly because I never had the need or urge to do so. Not until her.
Weighing my options after standing in her room for two minutes like a creep, I finally decide to try it. Without lifting the blanket, I crawl onto the bed, kicking my boots off, each one hitting the floor with a loud thud. If she notices, she doesn’t say anything. Biting my bottom lip, I scoot closer, waiting for her to tell me to leave, to fuck off.
I don’t stop until my body is touching hers and even then, that’s not enough for me. Wrapping a heavy arm around her slim waist, I nestle her into the spot against me, the spot that I’m sure was made just for her. She stiffens for a few seconds before relaxing into my touch. Breathing her in, I let her floral scent calm me. A moment later, she starts to sob again, heavy bursts of what I can only describe as pain rip from deep within her chest.
I want to say something, anything, but I don’t know what. Instead, I hold her tighter, burrowing my face into her hair, letting her know that I’m here, that I’ll always be here if she’ll have me. I hate myself for hurting her, for breaking her more than she already was.
“When will the pain stop?” she whispers, her voice hoarse.
“I don’t know. I’ve asked myself that a thousand times in the last five years.” There’s a long moment of silence and then she clears her throat to speak again.
“Sometimes...” Her voice is thick with emotion and I feel her sadness, her pain, it pricks at my skin, it suffocates me. “I wish I never chose dare that night. I only chose it because I wanted to prove to you that I wasn’t a baby, that I could do one little dare. Now that I think about it, I see how stupid that was.”
I smile into her hair, thinking of how even back then she had me wrapped around her finger. We were joined at the hip, where she went, I went. We were strictly friends, but I hungered for more. I wanted it, and if she had stayed, if everything hadn’t fallen apart, she would’ve been mine a long time ago. I knew it. Hell, I would’ve made sure of it.
